Problems
by catopiuh
Summary: Marth didn't expect for Roy to sit down to a chess match with him that day. In fact... he didn't expect a lot of things from Roy. MarthxRoy


Disclaimer: I don't own Marth, Roy, or any of the Smashers.

Author's note: This is under the assumption that Marth and Roy happened to be unlucky enough (or lucky enough?) to board together in the "Smash Mansion". Hahah, I guess you could kind of call this a near- PWP...? Kinda. Well, this is the first citrus I've ever written, so go easy on me.

... the "beginning" of their relationship. Poor Marth. Little does Roy know...

* * *

Marth Lowell had a problem.

His eyes were narrowed slightly, as they always were, and his body was tense. It was not one that he often experienced at all; let alone, experienced _because_ of a certain fiery-headed General.

"What's the matter, Marth?" He breathed, a small smirk on his lips. "Can't take the _heat_?"

He sent a simple glare at the taunt, but remained in his silence as per usual. Rather, with thin lips, he looked back down. After a long moment of concentration, his nimble fingers reached forward to toy with the head of the piece. Calculating even as he did so, he gave a soft sigh and shifted it's position on the board.

"Knight to E5."

Roy's smirk disappeared in a flash as his pawn was overtaken. He had obviously not seen the move coming, but the victory was small all the same, and he remained relaxed. "Hn, I'm still winning."

Marth eyed the board, nearly with a hint of amusement. "General, I don't quite believe simply... not losing horribly, can qualify as 'winning'."

"Shut up," he said with a roll of his eyes. "And let me bask in my victory for once."

He had to retain a small smile of amusement, but kept it well hidden. He bit back the urge to prove him wrong again, instead crossing his arms and leaning back. Roy traded positions with him, it being his turn to lean forward and glare thoughtfully at his side of the chess board.

The two had been playing Chess for at least an hour. Roy had begun his daily complaint of boredom around noon, after having had their breakfast, their lunch, and lounging around between the two times by watching television. Having found the redhead's choice of channel (ESPN was broadcasting day-long reruns of NFL games) excessively boring and unnecessarily violent, the Prince had found his own interest gradually decreasing, until he resorted to pulling out a book to read.

He wasn't sure if reading was just plain blasphemy in the boy-General's eyes, or if he just found the idea of Marth being content an impossible one, but he ended up not being able to flip many pages of the novel. He could feel his eyes flick repeatedly towards him for at least ten minutes, before the boy lost patience. He kicked his feet up onto the sofa, reclining back and propping his feet up in Marth's lap.

And thus came his prompt proclamation of, "Marth, I'm bored."

His first course of action had been, of course, to push the boots off himself with a long sigh, lowering his book to look at him. "And what do you wish for me to do about it?"

The redhead had grinned widely at him and shrugged. "Entertain me?"

"Is the television not recreational enough for your taste?"

The English words going clearly over his head, he had just persisted, "What's something fun we could do?"

The bluenette looked at him dryly. He had a feeling this was going to end in some obscene game with the other Smashers. He turned back to his book. "Hn. We could play chess."

"... Okay!"

He had not expected an acception of his suggestion at all, and so when he found himself setting up a chess board later it was with no small amount of surprise.

... And of course, like everything else he did, Roy somehow found a way to turn even this simple game of chess so very competitive.

"... _I_," he finally said decisively and triumphantly, moving the black pieces on the board, "am taking your rook!"

The second the piece was moved, Marth saw his opening and reached forward, knocking Roy's main piece from the board. "Which leaves me free to take your Queen, General."

The Prince watched the shift of expression amusedly. He retained a smile, but not the smugness that leaked across his expression. Roy's own expression deftly went from surprised, to angry, to disappointed. It finally settled on the last one, and he stated sullenly, shooting him a glare and accusing fruitlessly, "Cheater..."

"And how do you induce that?"

The General of Pherae didn't reply, turning his glare to the board and focusing on his black pawns, mixed in with the white of Marth's.

Marth felt rather internally satisfied. He may not have overcome the brief problem of positioning Roy had cornered him into, but Roy was now in a much worse position.

He leaned back yet again, watching Roy with his chin held in his hand and feeling much more confident again. Something would have been strange had the younger boy beaten him. It would have been unreal -- the General could only beat the Prince at such a game in his dreams.

The game continued like this for some time. Each occasionally gained a foothold, gaining and losing the advantages, but in the end Marth won by a long shot. The fiery swordsman's pride was invoked upon the matter now, and he challenged him to yet another game. "Best two out of three." Even when other Smashers wandered downstairs and into the room, Roy's attention wasn't, as Marth expected, diverted to them. He remained persistent, and as Marth won another, changed his offer from 2/3 to 3/5. It played on like this, all throughout the afternoon, sometimes switching the color of their pieces for variety's sake.

Even Marth began to grow weary of the game he himself had suggested, and half wished for Roy's attention to disperse again. Yet every time he gave a sigh and nearly stood up, he'd eye the other boy's intense expression and carefully bitten lip, before giving another (this time silent and internal) sigh and and remaining put, reminding himself that there were much worse things that he could be subjected to. It was better this than nothing else.

Also, the fact that the first time he did so Roy proclaimed that he was backing out because he was 'just about to lose' kept him glued to his chair. But only slightly.

Marth won in the end, at a whopping 7 times. It wasn't surprising, but all the same Roy sulked all the way to the kitchen, sulked while eating the entire meal, and sulked straight back to their room. He didn't speak to Marth much at all since his rather tragic loss. Not once until later that night.

* * *

When he did, his voice was strangely soft. As routine demanded, Marth had changed into his own flannel pajamas in the bathroom, and as routine demanded, Roy had taken right there inside their dorm room to change. It seemed something was off, however, as by the time Marth had fully changed and returned, Roy still seemed to have not gotten past removing anything except his cape.

Roy looked back over his shoulder at him as he entered the room, and the bluenette raised an eyebrow at him as he passed. He stopped him before he reached the bed by saying, in that same strangely soft voice, "Marth, wait."

"Hm?"

"Come here." Roy gestured towards himself, still not turning towards Marth. The Prince blinked -- these were the first words spoken to him since Chess -- but did so slowly, inquiring as he stepped over to him, "Yes?"

"My armor," he said, gesturing to his back that faced him. Marth eyed the criss-crossing straps. "Can you help me take it off...?"

It was an odd tone of voice, he thought briefly, but it was not a rare occurance that he had to assist him with it. He carefully unfastened the straps for him, and the armor came lose, causing the boy infront of him to let out a long breath.

"That feels much better..." He turned back to him, eyes flicking up to him with a small smile. The ice master eyed his strange manner for a moment before going back to the bed. He crawled beneath the covers, fully intent on going straight to sleep. However, just like how his earlier book-reading was interrupted, it seemed the redhead yet again had plans to stop him.

"... Marth?"

He stopped in his reaching for the knob of the lamp, looking towards the source. Roy was still paused in his undressing, only his top layer of armor removed. He raised a smooth eyebrow at him, pulling back away from the light source. "Yes?"

Slowly, a smooth smile made it's way onto the boy's face, and there was a look in his eye that Marth had never seen on him before. He too raised an eyebrow, and almost exasperatedly he crossed his arms. "Are you really so... stupid?"

The eyebrow dropped into a disdaining frown. Of everything about himself, his intelligence was what he prided in the most -- and in comparison with himself, he really doubted that Roy was one to talk on the matter. He didn't say this, however, instead retorting indignantly, "Excuse me?"

"Sorry... maybe I should have phrased that better." He started slowly towards him. "What I meant to say, is are you really so _oblivious_..."

Not quite seeing that as much better of a quality, his frown only deepened. "General, might I inquire just how --"

"Roy."

He blinked at the unexpected interruption, and blinked even faster when the end of the bed creased with the redhead's weight. "... excuse me?" He found himself asking again.

"I want for you to call me Roy," he said, smile still reserved and sly as he crawled carefully up the bed and to his side, yet again in a manner that Marth had never quite seen before. It left him in a sudden cautious anticipation, eying him carefully, as if he were about to play a trick on him. Roy, however, seemed to have no intention of playing any jokes. His voice was purely serious, however low and more -- _seductive_ it suddenly seemed. For one of the first and few times since the Prince had come to the Smash mansion, he felt... _nervous._

"You're so oblivious," he said again, but this time expanded. "I've been flirting with you allllll daaay... and you haven't noticed one. Single. One." With each pause between words, he crawled forward another inch, until he was practically hovering over Marth on all fours.

The bluenette watched him cautiously, rather clearly understanding _now_, but now simply at a loss as to of how to react. His brain was whirring quickly, thoughts being produced rapidly. He didn't remember ever making any such hint to Roy, to make him believe that he returned whatever such feelings he was stating,

... or rather, he didn't quite seem to be _stating_ feelings, as much as he was _acting_ upon them. His breathing was hitched in his throat as his eyes flicked across the boy-General's face, now just inches from his. The same emotion from earlier left his cobalt eyes half-lidded; one that Marth recognized now as lust. Though he had stopped momentarily, Roy's own breath was still coming in short puffs, now so close that he could feel it on his lips. The bluenette had never entertained thoughts such as this...

"I want you to call me Roy," he repeated.

... though the redhead _was_ terribly attractive...

"Over... and over... and over..."

... and it had been so long since his heart rate had picked up like this outside of battle...

"And I'm tired of waiting."

The pyromancer closed the gap just like that, lips pressing against Marth's. It was familiar, he thought as he remembered that fated game of truth-and-dare only days ago, yet so much more intimate before. Now, they were behind closed walls, with no one else around to see or judge just what they did. And most of all, somehow his lips seemed so much more warm and inviting than before -- and it was not like the boy-General was unwilling, he seemed far from it...

And so when the redhead opened his mouth, tongue brushing his lower lip slightly, his steadily thinned self-restraint broke and he returned the kiss. He fell back onto his back so as to be able to reach up and pull Roy closer, mouth opening to find the other's and taste him.

He rather quickly decided he enjoyed the flavor, which tasted distinctly of a mixture between cinnamon and strawberries -- both of which puzzled him, as he couldn't recall having seen the boy eating either of which today, or any day previously.

Much like everything else with Roy, it was not much to Marth's surprise, but much to his amusement that this turned into just as much of a competition as the chess match earlier, albeit under far different rules. Roy's hands had gone up, tangling themselves in his hair, and probing his own mouth with his tongue in return, making Marth quickly realize that it was becoming an oral fight for dominance of the kiss. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and using his hand on the back of the boy's neck as leveridge, pulled him even closer. It took only the slightest slip-up -- a soft moan into his mouth -- that gave him the chance to gain the upper hand in their little battle, completely claiming Roy's mouth entirely with his own.

Had his lips not been already occupied, the bluenette could practically hear the words the other would spout -- about maybe winning the battle, but not the war. For now, however, Roy withdrew and grew more submissive as Marth smirked slightly into the kiss. It was just beginning to grow difficult to draw breath through his nose (as it was coming faster and faster) that the boy-General pulled away, seemingly agreeing with his own small pants for air. Marth reached up, capturing the now-swollen lips in another, less passionate kiss.

Roy was straddling his waist now, and changed the course of the kiss, lips grazing down the skin of his jaw in a solo mission. Marth licked his lips, mouth feeling suddenly dry as Roy's lips continued down his jaw, then combing down his neck with small open-mouthed kisses. If he'd had any thoughts of regret now, they disappeared as soon as a velvety tongue stroked his jugular. A long groan escaped his throat as lust began to pool definitely in his stomach. He could feel the lips curve into a wide smile, and as they moved onto the the curve of his neck, beginning to suck softly at the tender skin, he dizzily reached down, hand trailing down to search for the end of his tunic. His fingers met belt before they met the end of cloth, and he remembered (now with frustration) how slow the redhead had been in undressing.

Roy seemed to realize this at the same time, and he laughed softly, the breath blowing over the wet red spot on his neck and sending a shiver straight down his spine. Seeming to notice this (or so Marth assumed by the wicked smile he had now) he raised his mouth, lips brushing his ear and whispering into it, "I don't need help with just my armor. I want you to help me take it _all_ off."

He was only glad to assist. Nimbly his fingers undid the belt buckle, sliding it off him and tossing it carelessly to the side. All that mattered was removing his tunic, which he did, having to focus hard as Roy had restarted his small licks and bites along his neck.

He quickly decided that as nice as it felt, it was far too distracting to reach his greater goal and so he rolled the pair over so that it was he that was laying on the younger boy. Carefully pushing him down into the bed, he pushed his blue and gold tunic and underlying burgundy shirt up. Roy shifted gladly out of it, body twisting to pull the two shirts over his head. When it too joined the belt in the corner, Marth remained still for a moment, eying him. The pyromancer's lips were swollen by now, and slightly pink around the corners. His chest, now bared to him, was still heaving for breath, and the Prince was momentarily distracted by watching each muscle in his abdomen stretch and tighten slightly with each little breath and movement that he made beneath him. His gaze snapped away as he felt probing fingers at his chest, and his eyes flicked down -- he didn't even remember when his pajama top had been removed, but Roy's hands were running casually across his own (less visible) muscles.

Marth deemed this moment to be _his _turn, and holding Roy's wrists before he could do anything else to him, he leaned down, starting to claim his own mark on the younger boy. He lapped at the soon-red mark, running his tongue across the tanned skin. He was quite pleased at the moan the action retrieved, the throat vibrating beneath his lips with it. The older boy's hands lowered, running down the smooth skin of his abdomen, thumbs coming to a stop as they caressed the gentle dip of Roy's hipbones. He trailed his own lips lower, pleased at _his_ turn to tease, and did just so by slowly running his tongue across a dark nipple.

The reaction to it nearly sent his own brain spinning, as with a shaky gasp Roy's back arched into an intense angle, his lithe body pressing up against Marth's -- and in result, could feel the boy's rather apparent arousal pressing against his own hips. The Prince could feel his already torn threads of self-restraint snap in two yet again, whatever remained of the lust in his stomach traveling south. Roy's moan slowly took shape of a name, "_Marth_!" which he repeated over and over until his throat ran dry. With a shaky intake of breath, he gave the abused nub a brief, apologetic kiss, before moving onto the other. Roy's hands found their way into the silky strands of blue hair, curling lightly into fists.

The ice-user decided to make good use of his own hands, and he trailed them lower, and he was momentarily puzzled as his hands continued brushing skin, before looking down. At some point, again, his pants seemed to have been discarded, as well as Roy's own -- but he wasn't exactly about to complain. He leaned back to sit on the redhead's thighs with a sly smile, and Roy's hands hovered helplessly in the air without anything to latch onto any longer. Slowly, and very teasingly he trailed a hand up the inside of his thigh, forming small circles with his fingertips.

Roy let out a helpless gasp at it, and though his back had since relaxed, his hips raised slowly. The redhead bit his lip to retain further noise, and seeing this as almost another challenge, Marth allowed another small smirk to cross his lips. He had a good idea just how to regain the sound. And surely enough, when he slid the other's underwear off, his red eyelashes flew open, and when his fingers brushed teasingly up his length he uttered an aching groan so loud and low that it sent a shiver straight down Marth's own spine, only serving to increase the painful throbbing between his own legs. Roy licked his dry lips, eyes squeezing suddenly shut and hips jerking up towards him with more pleading sounds, full of need. As Marth slowly began his torture, with each sound produced his normally extraordinary patience grew thinner and thinner as his own as his own arousal grew stronger and stronger.

He couldn't keep his propositions up for long, and soon removed his hand, speaking for the first time since it had all begun. "Gen --" Roy let out a soft hiss of disapproval, eyes still squeezed shut, and he corrected himself. "Roy, I... are you sure that you are --"

"_Please,_ Marth," he whispered in return, finally opening his eyes to gaze down at him. "Please..."

The bluenette briefly bit his lip, not sure what was making all of his sense of logic go awry but not really caring.

"Marrrth..."

He sat up straighter again, beginning to remove the last of his layers of clothing. All that he knew was that he _had_ to have him -- he wanted to be inside him, right _now..._

"Marth..."

Roy's voice had lowered to but a whisper now, and as the Prince threw his own underwear to the abandoned clothes pile. He grasped his hips again, and he looked briefly up, and Roy looked back at him through half-lidded eyes, willing him on. "... Marth..."

"Marth..."

* * *

"_Marth_!"

His heartbeat was still pounding rapidly, and his own blue eyelashes flicked open. Roy was crouching, reaching out and shaking his shoulder carefully. A small frown was on his face. "Marth?"

The Prince sat up straight suddenly, looking over to him. His eyes widened momentarily, but just as swiftly as he always did, up came his ice mask, and his expression grew emotionless. He rolled away so that his back was to the redheaded swordsmen. "Is there something you require, General?"

There was silence for a moment, and then there was the sound of Roy standing to return to his bed. He snorted lightly, not sounding too surprised but drawling all the same, "Sooorr-rrrry. It just sounded like you were having a nightmare."

The bluenette Prince was, for yet again one of the few times in his stay at the Smash Mansion, speechless. He remained silent.

"... damn, don't tell me you're back to sleep already. Since when did you become such a deep sleeper...?"

Yet again, Marth gave no reply. There was none to give.

With a slightly huffy noise, Roy himself settled, fluffing up his pillow and sinking into it with a yawn. "Fine..." he murmured to himself, for he and Marth both knew that the Prince was not asleep so suddenly, "Ignore me..."

Marth closed his eyes. He didn't have much of a choice not to. He did not fall asleep, however; the redhead fell into that far more quickly. It wasn't until he could hear the even breathing coming again from across the room that Marth relaxed, letting out a slow, shaky sigh. The redhead _was_ generally a deep sleeper, so he felt comfortable bringing his hand up to rub his temple at his suddenly oncoming headache. A headache that had been pent up, and hidden just beneath a surface that he _himself_ had not even seen.

He squeezed his eyes tighter momentarily, frowning at nothing quite in particular as he continued to massage his temple. The Prince of Altea was no fool, however, and he was not one to dapple in that which is denial.

Slowly and steadily, the tastes and sensations from the dream began to fade -- though, a very dire, important problem did not, even as he felt his lust gradually uncoil.

It was so ironically -- so _frighteningly_ similar to chess that it was dazzling, almost.

Though he wasn't sure how long this irritation would last, it would fade eventually. It was frustrating for now, yes; but there was an all more important problem that the bluenette now had to face. Not with the here-and-now, but with what he would steadily come to face over the next few weeks. Though the details would be forgotten, the gist of the dream would not; and more were sure to follow to remind him of just every occurrence inside of it.

Marth Lowell had a problem, and that problem was laying just a few tempting steps away from him every night with the name of Roy.

* * *

Author's note: Hmm, I've been iffy about the dream scene since I wrote it, but I purposefully made Roy OOC (according to the rest of the fic, at least) there, and about the events that occurred, because in dreams, since when are things realistic? Pants can "magically" disappear in dreams if you want them too. ;D

* * *


End file.
